


Good Vibrations

by softestpunk



Series: Vampires Purr, Okay? [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, no really this is just... fluff, purring vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 09:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15045857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: Geralt overdoses on potions, as he is occasionally wont to do. Regis helps using unconventional means.





	Good Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [embeer2004](https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/gifts).



> Based on something in this comment on [Peace](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/169742813).

Geralt groaned as he stumbled through the front door of the villa at Corvo Bianco, his blood burning in his veins, his head pounding. He took two more steps, and then the whole world swayed violently, and he was suddenly, painfully on the floor.

Marlene’s cool touch against his neck kept him conscious for a few more seconds, his instincts not letting him pass out while she was touching him, no matter how much he trusted his cook.

“I’ll summon Master Regis,” Barnabas-Basil said, and he sounded like he was miles away, but Geralt could feel him hovering, only slightly alarmed, just a few feet from where Geralt had unceremoniously collapsed.

They’d both learned not to try and pick him up. Aside from the fact that he was much heavier than he looked, he had a bad habit of lashing out if he was touched unexpectedly.

He’d spent a week apologising after accidentally giving Barnabas-Basil a black eye when his incredibly patient majordomo had only been trying to help him.

Regis was a safer solution to the problem, and since he’d settled back down in Toussaint after checking to make sure Dettlaff wasn’t in danger of causing any more havoc, all of Geralt’s staff had gotten used to his occasional presence.

Which was becoming less  _ occasional _ and more like part-time house guest, which Geralt was fine with. If he thought for a moment that Regis would just move in with him, he would have handed over the guest room immediately.

Especially since, in retirement, he was turning out to need the help of a skilled healer more often than he  _ ever _ had before. He was either getting careless, stupid, or both in his old age.

This was the first time in a while he’d managed to overdose, though. It was a particularly unpleasant kind of agony, where Geralt could  _ feel _ all of his organs protesting at the toxins in his bloodstream, and he was too hot, and everything was tender and pounding and he just wanted to stay exactly where he was, on the floor, until it all went away.

He did, eventually, pass out.

The next thing he was aware of was Regis stripping him down to his shirt and underwear and pushing him into bed, muttering under his breath about suicidal witchers and how they never thought of anyone else, or who might worry about them, or miss them if they were gone.

He’d just started talking to himself about how much of a disaster Geralt’s death would be to all the other inhabitants of Corvo Bianco when something entirely unexpected happened.

Regis climbed into the bed behind him and wrapped his wonderfully cool arms around Geralt’s chest, holding him close.

Unexpected, but not unpleasant. Regis’ body was cool, and seemed to absorb the extra heat from Geralt’s, and even if this was new and a little surprising, Geralt really didn’t  _ mind _ being cuddled. Especially not when he felt like maybe death would have been a better option than continuing to live through his body breaking down the toxins in his blood.

His fingernails hurt.

His  _ hair _ hurt.

Everything hurt, and Regis was there, and he was helping with the worst of the overheating, and Geralt… couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than be grateful that Regis just knew what he was doing.

“Regis?” he asked, his voice rough, barely above a whisper.

Regis shushed him. “Witchers who overdose on their own potions do not get to complain about the treatment provided to them. It is  _ far _ too late to do anything other than let this run its course. I can only ease the discomfort.”

“It's helping,” Geralt said, though the effort of talking was undoing a lot of the good Regis had done for him so far.

“As much as I enjoy the sound of your voice, Geralt, you really must allow me to concentrate,” Regis said.

Geralt had no idea what Regis was trying to concentrate on, but it seemed a little ridiculous that Regis was telling  _ him _ to shut up.

Before he could summon the strength to say so, though, something incredible happened. Regis burst into a low, rumbling purr that vibrated through Geralt’s body.

And, for whatever reason, the pain Geralt had been in all but disappeared, replaced with a pleasant whole-body hum that made him feel as though he was floating a little way above the mattress.

Regis’ nose was pressed against his neck, cool breath soothing the heat there, too, and Geralt  _ really _ didn't mind this.

“Much better,” Regis said, and it turned out he could purr and talk at the same time, and that seemed a little unfair.

On the other hand, Geralt agreed. This was  _ much  _ better.

“And now we wait until the toxins clear your system. A few hours at most, I think,” Regis murmured. “Try to get some sleep, Geralt.”

Geralt sighed softly, shifting just a little so he was touching Regis in a few more places, and then settling in.

They’d definitely have to talk about this in the morning, but for now, Geralt was happy to fall asleep to the sound of his vampire purring.


End file.
